


seeing blue

by imlonelyalready



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Gen, I may continue this?, Out of Character, but hey im trying so, most likely, this has absolutely been done before, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24881797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imlonelyalready/pseuds/imlonelyalready
Summary: He wasn’t a superstitious man. That much was true. Religion had never been anything that caught his interest in the past, and the same could be said now. No, John preferred to keep his mind focused on the here and now; the logical, the plausible, theexplainable. He had nothing against those who were devout, he respected their piety, but he’d seen first-hand what religion could do to those who followed blindly. It simply wasn’t for him. But even he knew there were some things that were too mystical for reason and logic to easily explain away.
Relationships: Cortana & John-117 | Master Chief
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	seeing blue

**Author's Note:**

> hey! watch me fudge literally everything and pretend to know what I'm doing!
> 
> this came to me while i was sleeping, and it's been stuck in my head ever since. i _plan_ on continuing it, but if y'all aren't into it, then i won't keep posting. it would be shippy if I continue, I just didn't put it in the tags cuz it's technically n/a this chapter. i don't know who's still into jortana in the lord's hellish year of 2020, so if you actually like this, then god bless.
> 
> I've been reading some of the halo books and playing some of the games, so I'm hoping to get john's characteristics at least a little right. pray for me.
> 
> if you like this, let me know!!! enjoy!

He wasn’t a superstitious man. That much was true. Religion had never been anything that caught his interest in the past, and the same could be said now. No, John preferred to keep his mind focused on the here and now; the logical, the plausible, the explainable. He had nothing against those who were devout, he respected their piety, but he’d seen first hand what religion could do to those who followed blindly. It simply wasn’t for him. But even he knew there were some things that were too mystical for reason and logic to easily explain away.

In this case, the status quo changed silently, and without his notice; his logic was utterly useless. All he knew was that he was drawn to the house. Something about it felt oddly… right. He’d had hunches like that before, moments where instinct took over and coerced his decision. It was uncanny how it usually worked in his favor. The word ‘luck’ had been applied to him by several different people in his life. But now? This _house_ felt lucky to him, and he felt damn lucky he was able to snatch it off the market for such a price, even if money wasn't an object to him. A large account under his name had been collecting his funds throughout his life, racking up interest over the years. When he’d asked for a statement to tell him the exact amount, he’d felt like he’d been hit in the chest with a plasma beam. He never needed to work again.

After all the years he’d served Earth and her colonies, John finally was relieved from the service a month ago—he was allowed to start his own life. Which was what brought him to this house. The UNSC had patted him on the back, thanked him, handed him his crate of trophies, and practically booted him out of the door. “ _Thanks for the help_ ,” they’d said in layman's terms. They’d briefed him on what life would be like for him now. They even gave him a roof over his head for a few weeks until he could get his own place. But that, of course, was after all the ceremonies. After all the banquets and speeches and the raucous parties he expertly evaded. Cameras, fine china, and flashy civilians in suits who all wanted to shake his hand made him feel like an alien under his own skin. The irony in that made something twist dully in his core.

So, that’s where he found himself now: standing in black lace-up boots, tan cargo pants, and a white, short-sleeve t-shirt on a rundown sidewalk. All the medals, pins, purple hearts, sashes, _everything_ he had rightfully earned during his time as the Chief had come with him and were now tucked away neatly in the box under his arm.

John pushed the front door with his boot after he unlocked it, then winced. He’d nearly forgotten. The strength in his large frame was something he had to learn all over again, only this time, without armor. Not everything was comprised of a ceramic-titanium alloy, so he had to be cautious. John had already dented the door handle of the beater that was now under his name, and that hurt more than he thought it could. Thankfully, there wasn’t a hole in the front door, merely a scuff mark from where the rubber sole kissed the wood.

The door swung open with a creak. It was dusty. Furniture was draped in old, moth-eaten sheets, and all the windows were cloaked in inky black curtains. As he moved forward into what he considered to be the living room, the sun that had been cooking the back of his sensitive neck and arms now painted the slats on the floor in gold. He sat the crate in his arms on the partially-covered coffee table.

Making his way over to the window, the floor groaned under his weight but didn’t do anything else. He tore the black sheet from where it hung over the rod and was nearly blinded by the magnificence of the sun in the process. Dust particles floated in the stirred air and danced merrily in the beams of the burning star.

John turned around and eyed the room. There was a lot to do.

***

The house was an older victorian model. The residential area that it sat in used to be a hotspot for those who wished to admire the past. Like most things, it was a fad, and now there were only two other residents—an older couple he'd seen watering their roses earlier—who lived down the way from him. It was quite desolate, and that was a relief. John wasn’t sure he could deal with the claustrophobic hell that was modern-day suburbia. This was perfect.

Obviously, the houses weren’t truly from the victorian era, they were only made to replicate the style. That meant that while it was technically a “new” house, it was built much like its predecessors. The house was “old” and outdated enough that it didn’t support any A.I, dumb, or otherwise. John wasn’t sure it even had cable. ONI had offered to buy him a newer, more state of the art home somewhere out in the boonies, but he’d declined.

John swiped his hands on his pants as he plopped down on the newly uncovered sofa. He’d spent the better part of the morning carting in his belongings and cleaning up the living room. When he first was discharged, he hadn’t any utilitarian belongings, only his awards. But when they’d given him his temporary quarters for that short month, they’d also given him clothes to wear. He couldn’t wear BDUs anymore. John would be lying if that didn’t feel a little weird to him, still.

During the stay in those quarters, he’d managed to not only find the house, this house, but also a beater. He’d nothing to compare the experience to, as most people don’t start their lives in their forties, but he did the best he could with what he had.

He had two small crates of clothes, three pairs of identical black boots, and a pack of toiletries. With a sigh, he mentally added “food shopping” to his to-do list.

All the black curtains in the living room had been removed and unceremoniously piled into a corner, along with the white furniture covers. At first glance, the furniture had concerned him; it was… elaborate? A tad too fancy for his taste, but he was surprised to find it more than a little comfortable.

John had found a broom and a dustpan inside a closet in the kitchen after some investigating. He had to sweep the entire hardwood floor three full times before most of the dust was gone, and after seeing the wood beneath his boots was indeed cherry, he went to work trying to find some type of cleaner. In the back of the cabinet under the porcelain farmer’s sink, he’d found an off-brand wood cleaner. That would do.

Two hours and a ruined shirt later, he pushed the furniture back into their places and sat on the sofa. The monotonous work helped to put his mind at ease, and he quickly found that he enjoyed cleaning. The process of cleaning the floors wasn’t at all similar to cleaning his MA5, but it rewarded the same. Well, his one shirt was now stained to hell because he used it as a rag, but he figured that was okay.

His shorn hair brushed against the soft back of the couch as he rested his head. He guessed he should be tired by now, he’d been at it a while, but he had a lot of stamina.

The sun was lower in the sky, and it barely crested the treeline in the distance. Nearly time for food. As he considered getting up and going to a nearby fast-food joint—he probably shouldn’t make a habit of eating out—a noise caught his attention. It was quiet, certainly not loud enough for someone without augmented ears to hear. It came from the west—er, the _bedrooms_ —

_**BANG!** _

John shot straight up. His muscles went rigid as his heart rate spiked slightly before settling out to a faster, even tempo. Silently, he toed over to the broom resting against the wall. Grabbing it with both hands, he made his way to the left where the rooms were. Quiet shuffling met his ears as he neared the room he had put his stuff in. The door was cracked open.

Seeing as he had the element of surprise, he took a deep breath and kicked the door open fully with his foot. He moved in, feet squared with his hips with the broom jutting out in front of him like a weapon. John’s eyes scanned the room but found no one. That meant nothing.

Papers were scattered all over the floor, and one of his boots was sitting on its side in the middle of the room. He slinked over the closet and was about to open it before something caught his eye: a bootprint was stamped perfectly on the door. What? His eyebrows pinched in confusion.

John grabbed and turned the handle, then peered into the closet. No one was in there. He closed the door with a click and paced around the room. All the windows were shut, the back door in the kitchen was locked, and no one could have gotten in through the front door without running into him. What made all the noise? Who threw his boot?

Moving over to the other side of the bed, he lifted the bed skirt and braced himself, but nothing was there. He wasn’t sure why he half expected a Grunt to pop out at him.

Standing up, he dropped the broom on the bed and kneeled on the floor by the papers. They had been in one of the crates he brought in. He swiped them all into a pile and shuffled through the stack before standing up. Among the papers was the physical copy of his birth certificate, his working papers, the deed for the house, and the receipt for the junker sitting out in the driveway. He knew that all the papers he kept were important, otherwise, why keep them? But having them scattered together on the floor? Those specific ones? A knot formed in his throat as a sense of foreboding settled over him. John had a feeling that someone was in here. The hairs prickling on his neck made him believe that they were still in the house, if not in the room with him. But that would be impossible, he just checked—

“ _You might want to get a safe for those, anyone could just stroll in here and know all your information_ ,” a voice below his left ear whispered. John whipped around, knuckles white with the grasp he had on the papers. There was no one in the room. But he had heard a voice. Maybe they ran out into the hall? No, he would’ve heard them, if not feel the physical displacement of air behind him.

He hesitantly moved backward to the desk that held the open crate and placed the papers back inside of it then closed the lid. Tightly. Grabbing the broom, he eyed the room one more time before searching the entire house. Somehow, he wasn’t shocked that he couldn’t find anyone.

John sat back down onto the sofa, his spine locked straight. All of his muscles were drawn in tight against his body, and his hands had a vice-like grip on the broom settled across his lap. His eyes watched the shadows that the light from the window made grow longer. Nothing else happened. He knew better than to believe that he imagined the entire thing, but the silence that sat over the house led him to believe that everything was and would be okay.

But he didn’t feel like things would be okay. The status quo had changed, again, and he could feel its gaze all over him. Things weren’t quite right, and he was feeling more than a little flighty.

John’s internal clock, as well as his watch, said it was half-past eight. He tapped his boot. He looked at the dark kitchen. Tapped his boot again. He couldn’t just sit here.

Gathering the broom, John checked the house once more, then made his way back to his room. The papers were still in the crate where he left them, and the boot still sat alone on the floor. He went to work cleaning the bootprint off the wall, but that only took a few minutes.

This was going to be a long night.

***

It was a little after midnight, and his room was spotless. He couldn't bring himself to put his awards out, so they sat on the top shelf in the closet, still in their box. The boot had since been picked up and put away with its partner, and the crate containing his papers had been safely stashed under his bed. Putting his clothes away in the closet proved to be nice, and he let himself get lost in the domestic activity.

John looked at the bed. Looked at his watch. Fine.

He quickly brushed his teeth and dressed down to his boxers, then crawled into the bed. He’d snatched a blanket from the building he had been staying in, and right now, he didn’t feel bad about it at all. The bedsheets were old and starchy, and he made another mental note to buy new ones tomorrow.

The sounds of the house settling filled his ears as he tried to sleep. He hadn’t realized he’d been tired, but nearly as soon as his eyes shut, he was out.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: thewhirlybird
> 
> feel free to hmu, i need more halo friends, or just more friends in general :-)


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